” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot. McClintock, without comment, accepted the hand. The job is easy. "Curse him!" muttered Abraham. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. It occurred to her that it was absurd and wrong to be so continuously thinking of one engrossing topic, and she made a strenuous effort to force her mind to other questions.
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